"The floor above holds up the remains of the roof." This did not seem like an especially comforting statement. Vaylo ignored it and crossed to the north-facing window. It seemed odd that Drybone had removed the middle boards from this window but not the one facing south. "I met one of your new men today," he said. "Kye Hillrunner."
Cluff Drybannock nodded, but did not speak. Vaylo supposed he had no reason to; no question had been asked.
Dry was dressed in serviceable gray wool pants and a tunic of gray suede. The quarter-moon he'd painted just beyond the crown of his hairline had faded, and although opal rings still bound his waist-length hair, Vaylo was gratified to see th&iis wrist leathers and the grip of his longsword were red.
"It is clear enough this day to see the Rift." Drybone's fine and powerful hand fell again on his chiefs arm, his touch light as he directed Vaylo to the exact direction. "It is the dark line on the break of the horizon."
Vaylo saw it. Without Dry he would never have recognized it for a gap in the world so little did the line in the far distance give away. "Is that where the Maimed Men live?"
"No. They lie east of here where the Rift is at fa deepest." "You watch it,"
Again there was no question and Chiff Dryhannock was silent "I set off for the Rift once," Vaylo said, his gaze still ahead. "I was nine and I was mad at Gullit, Decided to take off and never come back. Rode all the way to the Deadwoods, three whole days, before the anger finally left me and I turned for home with my tail between my legs. Had an idea about joining the Maimed Men." "This Bludd warrior is glad you did not join them." Vaylo was glad he was facing forward. Tears spiked in his eyes and he could let the wind blow them away. Seven sons and not a kind word or touch from one of them. He had been a bad father, he knew ii. Obsessed with matters of clan, short-tempered, selfish, but surely he had never been cruel? You were, countered a hard voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his father's. You resented your sons for being born legitimate, for not having to fight tooth and nail as you did. It was true enough, that was why things were different between him and Dry. They were bastards, and they knew all the small and big things that meant. Keeping his voice level, Vaylo said, "Tell me why you watch." Seconds passed and the wind blew and then Cluff Drybannock replied, "My blood makes me."
The same cold finger that had touched Vaylo earlier touched again in the exact same place. He had not expected such an answer, but now that he heard it he could not claim surprise. All along he had known his fostered son was made of a different, older substance than he himself. Others had known it too. Ockish Bull had helped rear Dry, and upon his death had left him a small purse. The great swordmaster Vingus Harking, great-uncle to the HalfBludd chief Onwyn HalfBludd, had come out of retirement, wheeling himself north in a cart pulled by dogs, just to train Dry for one year. Vingus had worked with others during his time at Bludd, but it was word of Cluff Drybannocks burgeoning skill that had roused him from his fossilage at HalfBludd. You could not meet Cluff Drybannock and not realize his worth.
Something glinting in the headland beyond the fort valley drew Vaylo's gaze. "Is there a stream over there?"
Drybone followed his gaze. "No. It is the Field Of Grave and Swords. I have walked there. Most swords no longer stand. Those that do are rusted and no longer have their points. A myth made true. As a boy Vaylo had heard of the Field of Graves and Swords, a graveyard where warriors were buried with their swords sticking up through the soil. He had thought it a fine thing, for the field was said to form the first line of defense for a legendary fortress— even in death the warriors guarded the fastness. It was strange to learn that this small hillfort was the site of such a legend.
"What happened to the nine missing men?" Vaylo asked, no longer sure if he even changed the subject.
Cluff Drybannock touched the container made of bone at his waist. "I sent them on a sortie northeast They never returned."
"What was their purpose?"
"To gather intelligence on the Maimed Men, and hunt freely if they so chose."
"You rode out to find them?"
Silence, and then as if by prearrangement both men moved out from the window and turned to look at each other full-on. Dry's brick-colored face was grave. "I headed a search party. Their tracks were not hard to follow and we found" He struggled for a word, "their remains within the day."
Vaylo touched his container of powdered guidestone. "Who died?"
Cluff Drybannock listed their names in perfect formal ranking beginning with the longest-serving sworn clansmen, Derek Blunt, and ending with the yearman, Will Pool, brother to Midge, who had taken his first oath seven months back. Vaylo knew them all. "Gods keep them."
Knowing he had no choice but to press on, he said, "Their horses?"
"Also gone."
"Dead or taken?"
Dry's nostrils flared. "Both. This warrior does not know a word to describe what was left of the men and their horses. Their shadows were left behind, burned into the grass."
Oh gods. "How long ago did this happen?"
"Sunset will mark the eleventh day."
Vaylo had to walk, and began to circle the vaulted room. His brain twitched as shocks ran through it. Bluddsmen dead. Derek Blunt had been forty-three, an experienced headman and an expert mounted swordsman. How could a heavily armed party come upon him without warning? "Was there sign of the enemy?"
"Big Borro found something close by, a sword-shaped hole cut into the turf. We dug and tried to find what had caused it. Six feet down we hit rock, but the sword-shaped object had burned through it and could not be reached.
Halting by the pile of roof debris, Vaylo turned over a rotten timber with the toe of his boot. Wood lice scuttled away from the light. "What s happening, Dry? What is the threat we are facing?"
Cluff Drybannock stood to attention, shoulders straight and chin high. "I fear the worst, my lord and father. In the days before I came to Bludd I heard things. The Trenchlands are full of whispers. Some say the trees start them. I was a boy and much ignored. Men and women would talk freely in the tavern where I served them. They did not believe a boy of seven had ears. Most were Sull or part Sull, and sometimes when the hour grew late their talk would turn to the threat growing in the darkness. They spoke of Ben Horo, the Time Before, and Maer Horn, the Age of Darkness. War had visited them in the past and would again. Most agreed the auguries were bad. Xalla a'mar, night is rising, they would say. Lisha mat i'scaras. We must grease our swords.
"The words pulled the iron in my blood like a magnet. Why, I cannot say. A thousand years have passed since the shadows last rose, and the Sull believe they are due to rise again. I fear those shadows, my father. I fear our clansmen died by hands that were formed from maer dan, shadowflesh. I fear we stand at the closing of an Age and if we are not vigilant and fail to fight, the Age will see an end to the Stone Gods and to clan."
Vaylo breathed steadily and showed no reaction to his fostered son's words. Many things struck him at once, yet in the silence that followed it was sadness that took hold and grew. It had been unsettling to hear Dry speak those Sull words with such casual precision. Twenty-five years in clan yet it Semed the language of his birth was undiminished. Unsettling also to hear him speak for the first time about those years before he came to Bludd. Vaylo had known nothing about Dry's boyhood in the Trenchlands, save that when he arrived at the Bluddhouse he was badly beaten and close to starving. Yet even unsettled Vaylo had been stirred with pride. Cluff Drybannock was a man worthy of respect. My eighth son. And much though Vaylo wanted him to be clan, he was not. A divide stood between them and if Vaylo looked for-ward he saw a parting in the distance, a dark line on the horizon. Like the Rift. Not realizing he was massaging the pain beneath his heart, Vaylo said, "Tell me what killed my men, Dry. If we encounter them again we must understand what we fight."